Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“I think I can do that,” I say, and she hangs up the phone with me.
I slip into bed without touching my cock, and the next day, I arrive at the arena grouchy. All day, she’s sent me messages about places that are itching, and all of them are below her waist.
I walk into the locker room and send her the last text, telling her where to meet me after the game. She got a lift in with Candace. I nod to the boys when I get in and grab my workout stuff, hoping an hour on the bike will help, but it doesn’t.
I walk to the ice, carrying my gloves under my arms, and finally put them on before I take the ice. I hear some of the fans cheer and then stop by the glass, not even noticing her. She knocks on the glass, and I smile at her. Taking her in, I see her cheeks are a bit pink.
I wink at her and then look at the side to see Candace smiling at me as she holds Ari in her arms. She turns, and I see that the Dallas jersey she is wearing has my number on it. I laugh now as she turns around. “Thought you might like this.”
“You know what that means,” I tell her, almost screaming, not even caring that people are around and that reporters might see or hear this. “That means you’re my girlfriend.”
Chapter 23
Layla
“You know what that means!” he screams through the glass, with not a care in the world. “That means you’re my girlfriend.” I throw my head back and laugh while he presses his lips to the glass.
“Eww,” Candace says from beside me. I look over and see her nose scrunching up, making me laugh even more. “That’s gross.” I look back at the glass. His lips are still on the glass while Manning pushes him away. “Ari, tell Auntie Layla that’s gross,” she says to her daughter, who scrunches up her nose like her mother.
“Dad!” I hear being yelled and look over at Manning’s son, who wears his jersey. He slaps the glass, and I see some of the other guys try to throw a puck over the glass for him. I smile and
look back to see if his wife is around. I don’t know why I’m shocked that she isn’t here. He’s a seven-year-old kid, so anything can happen to him.
Manning smiles at his son and puts his glove against the glass as his son puts his hand on his. “Score a goal for me tonight.” He jumps up and down, and Manning just laughs.
“Where is the mother?” I lean and whisper to Candace, who looks around. I help her look around also, and I don’t see her anywhere.
“Probably somewhere pretending to be the perfect captain’s wife,” she says and then looks at Manning, who just smiles at his son. “So”—she points her finger at me—“does this mean you are officially Miller Adams’s girlfriend?” Her finger moves up and down, pointing at the jersey, and I roll my eyes, trying not to let her see the happiness in my eyes.
“Do people in their thirties still need labels on things?” I turn to her as we watch the practice. “We are two adults who want to spend time with each other.” Slowly, the players skate off the ice, and I see Manning look over at his son, who is watching the other team. He looks up at Candace and me. She nods her head when he points at his son, and then I see him bend his head and shake it.
Candace walks down to his son, tells him something that makes him smile, and he grabs her hand as we walk back to the family lounge. I usually stay in the press box, but when Candace is here, I stay with her. We walk into the room, and we both look around for the mother, who is standing there with a glass of wine in her hand as she talks to a couple of the other wives. “There is your mom,” Candace says. He walks up to her, and she smiles at him and bends to kiss his head. The massive rock on her hand glistens as she rubs his shoulder.
“Okay, I’m not a mother or anything like that,” I say, my voice low. “But that was fake, right?”
“That was totally fake,” she says and kisses Ari on the head, who puts her arms around her neck and hugs her.
“Can your daughter be cuter?” I ask, rubbing Ari’s back.
“Nope,” she says. “Let’s go sit down and get our seats.” I walk with her outside the box to sit in two seats. Ari sits on her lap and claps, saying da-da. “So you and Miller?”
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Get it out now.”